


Dominant Predicaments

by adal44t_kb_o



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Consensal Interfacing, M/M, Multi, Other, Roush Interfacing, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3629487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adal44t_kb_o/pseuds/adal44t_kb_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Predaking decides Wheeljack is the source of his carnal desires and that particular Autobot is not so thrilled to find out about his Predacon admirer. Compatibility seems non-existent between them and besides, he has his sights set on another, if only for a night or two. Will either bot get what they want in the end and with the war over, can life finally resume?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU-Post Predacons Rising. So I don’t know what this is. Honestly my other stories are coming along so slowly that I just wanted to write something. If you have read anything by me before you know this is very different from my usual format. It is very short (like seriously, not even a thousand words. My chapters are usually almost ten thousand) and I don’t know where it is going at this point. 
> 
> Chapter Warning/Tags/Kinks-None
> 
> PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE LEGAL AGE!  
> Disclaimer-I do not own any of the characters or locations represented in Transformers Prime and I’m not profiting from this story.

“Get off me Predacon.” Wheeljack pushed hard at the heavy frame on top of his own, his digits scraping along the other’s plating and leaving marks along the side of the massive frame. He couldn’t believe the normally graceful flier had just fallen clumsily on top of him, scuffing his plating a bit in the process.

“Watch your mouth Autobot. I am Predaking and you will show some respect.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll show some respect when you don’t trip over your own pedes and nearly crush me into the ground.”

“I apologize for that but I did not foresee the severe consequences of my injury,” he said quietly, earnest in his apology. His right leg was practically mangled and had collapsed underneath him when he had tried to stand and greet the other mech. Both he and his predacons had underestimated the sneaky seeker, convinced that his groveling was real and that he may have been truly sorry for his behavior. The flier had maneuvered himself into a position to leave an impressive wound in Predaking’s lower right leg with his deadly claws before transforming and making a hasty retreat.

“Whatever. Just get off me.” The Predacon shifted until enough of his weight was finally off of the wrecker and Wheeljack pulled himself up into a sitting position. “Who is the lucky mech who got to take a piece out of you, anyways?” he said gesturing simultaneously at the wounded leg.

“Starscream…”

“Screamer!” he exclaimed, laughing at the absurdity of that picture in his processor.

Predaking’s optics narrowed and he let out a low growl as he continued, “He proves to be more…deceptive than I anticipated.”

“Imagine that. A deceptive Decepticon.” They both removed themselves from the floor, Predaking returning to his throne and Wheeljack to his pedes, where he was ready to fight despite the lack of hostility from the other mech.

The Predacon surveyed his former enemy, his optics flowing over the smooth paneling of the other mech and silently admiring the strong frame in front of him. The upper body was a wide spread that boasted his power while still showing off his limited adornments and bright color scheme. The gradated grey flowed into the white metal and it was accented brilliantly by the red of his chestplate and swords. He was a true warrior, frame marred by old scars and personality hardened by war and loss. Predaking considered him a worthy enemy, first noticing both his prowess and his frame during their faceplate to faceplate battle when his brothers had perished. The memory of that solarcycle still caused anger to stir within him, but he had moved on since the Autobots and Predacons now had a truce.

He had sent a transmission to Bumblebee requesting the wrecker’s presence for a specific purpose and the Autobot had hesitantly agreed. He had warned Predaking that Wheeljack was volatile, unlikely to take this request in an approving manner, and it would not be an easy task to accomplish. As truthful as that may be, he wasn’t going to give up on this endeavor without exhausting his options and persuading the other by any means necessary.

“So you just gonna stare at me all solarcycle or you gonna tell me what the frag you want?”

“I will be direct as you seem to value that. I have been experiencing awkward sensations in my frame for a while now that led me to conclude I may have some sort of illness. That however proved to be false when I did some research and found that my problem appears to be called arousal. I have determined that you are the cause and therefore I will need to mate with you.”

Wheeljack was honestly not expecting that to be the reason he had been called out here. A few decacycles of peace between their factions in addition to Cybertron’s continued revival and now a Predacon wanted to frag him. “You’ve got some circuits misfiring if you think I’m going to submit to you Con.”

“So your objection is to being dominated as opposed to being with me specifically?”

“I like to frag as much as the next mech. Not particularly into fragging Cons but haven’t exactly tried it either.”

“So you would be willing?”

“You are not hearing me Con. I’m not getting spiked.”

“And neither will I.” Predaking wasn’t sure what ‘getting spiked’ was exactly, but he knew it was part of being on the bottom. He was a king, the king of his entire breed, and that meant he wasn’t going to find himself beneath anybot.

“So find somebot else to frag.”

“I have not found any others to be attractive.”

“Not my fragging problem.” Wheeljack turned to leave when he felt the other bot move up behind him quickly, leaving only a few meters between them. He turned back slowly, his optics had gone deadly serious even as he smirked at the other, “Back off Con.”

“Do not think that I will give up on this, Autobot.”

“And your mistake is thinking I give a scrap.” Wheeljack left the throne room in an unhurried pace, his confidence unshaken by the turn of events, and knowingly, a set of optics burning into his backplates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WTF did I just write?


	2. Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll keep going with this as the inspiration hits me. Don’t know how regular the updates will be at this point but I shall try.
> 
> Chapter Warning/Tags/Kinks-None

The entrance to Iacon’s newest tower was empty as the doors swished open to admit him. Wheeljack stalked up the long walkway, heavy pedesteps sounding throughout the great hall, until finally he was close enough to spot the other bot standing by the upper floor balustrade. He entered the lift, stepped out on the second floor, which was quickly becoming a storage area for all the data pads they had collected throughout their travels, and stuck a digit into the other mech’s chestplate forcefully. “Next time you’re gonna offer me up to a Con, why don’t you let me know first so I can kick your aft and save myself a trip.”

“I didn’t offer you up. He asked me about meeting with you and when I found out for what purpose, I specifically told him how you would react. He insisted.”

“And you could have told him to frag off,” he said clearly unhappy with the other’s decision even though he did take a step back to give him more room again. Wheeljack wasn’t angry about the event per say, but he didn’t like anybot thinking that they could decide what he would be doing, especially not now that there wasn’t supposed to be any need for a leader. He had had too many commanders in his life already, and more than he could take just recently; what he truly did not need was Bumblebee trying to be another.

“Cybertron is free from war for the first time in eons and I am not going to do anything to potentially disturb the precarious peace we have established, particularly by telling Predaking to ‘frag off.’ I take it you said no to his request?”

“No, I told him I’d be happy to lie down and take it. Any way he wanted it too.”

“Wheeljack, the war is over and I think right now you should focus on something else besides being a warrior, like high-grade and having a good time. I heard you were quite the partier before the war and even during sometimes,” he said slyly, trying to change the subject. The sports car was not trying to be a leader, he just wanted all of the Autobots and even the Decepticons to work together now and renew Cybertron. Some of them were having a harder time adjusting than others, but Wheeljack would manage if he just stopped trying to fight everything that moved.

“And who told you that?”

“Bulkhead.”

“Old wrecking ball, huh? Well we did used to go pretty hard.” He seemed to think about it for a moment then said, “Let’s scrounge up some high grade and have a party then. That’ll give everybot something to do since they have been working so hard and they can mingle, which you seem to desire so much. You can even invite anybot you want and I’ll play nice.”

“High grade and a bunch of bots who, 1) mostly hate each other and, 2) have seen nothing but war for so long that the new definition of mundane is shooting things; I’m not sure that is the best idea.”

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” came smooth vocals from behind them indicating the presence of another bot that their positioning sensors really should have picked up on before now.

“Knockout,” Bumblebee said shaking his helm, “anything you think is a good idea is definitely a bad one.”

Knockout sashayed up to the yellow bot, cocking his hip out to the side when he was right in front of the other, “Now, Bumblebee, I don’t think that is fair. Perfect paint job, hot oil baths, smooth high grade, all excellent ideas.” Knockout leaned forward a bit until his warm ventilations could be felt by the other’s frame, “And better yet, two out of three of those can be shared, if you know what I mean?” The medic pulled back slowly smirking at the flustered look upon the other mech’s faceplates and walked passed him trailing one clawed digit along the underside of the sports car’s jaw strut, “You have my vote. Let me know when and where.”

Bumblebee allowed his optics to follow the other’s departure for a few nanoklicks before turning back to find an amused looking wrecker. “What?”

“Seems you’ve got your own admirer.”

“I… I don’t think so. Knockout… he just likes to flirt.”

“Maybe. Or he wants to pound you into a berth until your circuits fry,” Wheeljack said somewhat seriously before finally chuckling to himself.

“And with that image now burned into my processor, I’m going to leave,” Bumblebee replied shaking his processor incredulously. He was almost to the lift when he turned to face the other again, “Do me a favor and check on Bulkhead. I don’t know how much longer he will be able to handle the drones. They aren’t exactly the smartest bunch, definitely better at destruction than construction, and that’s saying something when it’s Bulkhead complaining about their intelligence.” He paused for a moment more, and then made a decision, giving in, “And I will send out invitations.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first story I have ever written where I have absolutely no direction. I’m just writing to write. Don’t know if that is a good thing or not yet. Anyways, let me know what you thought. Thanks. Love you guys.


	3. Preferences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning/Tags/Kinks-None

His pedes hit the ground hard as he transformed, his sliding stop causing a cloud of dust to whip around the construction site. “Hey, Bulk,” he said, punching his comrade in the shoulder with some force.

“Hey, Jackie,” he replied with a small smile, optics and vocals alight but seemingly frustrated. Wheeljack did a couple helm swings to take in the entirety of the site and immediately knew what was up with Bulk; the place was a mess. The building itself, which was soon to be the new Iaconian recreation hall, and most likely the location of the upcoming party, looked complete, but there was tattered metal everywhere as if they had put parts up and taken them down repeatedly in an effort to finally get it all right.

“Seems Bumblebee was right when he said you had your servos full.”

“I think they have actually gotten worse since they started.”

He gave a small chuckle, “Sounds just like their ability to aim.”

Bulkhead shook his helm in disbelief, servos lifting the datapad he held to swipe through the blueprints of the building while they talked. “So, you already went to see Bumblebee?” he said almost too innocently.

Wheeljack crossed his broad arms, faceplates taking on a pointed look as he stated accusingly, “So you know too, huh?”

“Uhh… know what?”

“You’re not a very good liar, Bulk.”

He had the decency to look sheepish as he explained, “He came to see me. Asked me if you were likely to start the next war while you were over there. I told him you would probably just tell the Con to frag off.” There were a few moments of silence as Bulkhead had refocused on the datapad, probably trying to make sure all of the necessary structures were in place before they began detailing and painting.

Wheeljack was happy to allow the silence to stretch between them because he wasn’t particularly interested in having this conversation. Not that he ever bothered to be vague about anything, but now he was pretty sure Bumblebee had sent him over here under a false premise so that Bulkhead could get the details out of him. He didn’t like being trotted around at another’s discretion under the pretense that a friend might need his help. It made him want to deliberately withhold information, but he knew Bulkhead was probably actually interested in what had happened.

He had barely thought that it was only a matter of time before Bulkhead spoke up again when, “So… what did you say?”

“What do you think?”

“I dunno. You like to frag, Jackie, always have. I wasn’t sure what you would say.”

“Never fragged a Con, Bulk. Besides, have you seen him?” Bulkhead had been privy to enough details about his interfacing habits to know that he was a dominant. Predaking’s entire persona spoke of domination and Wheeljack did not intend to submit in any way.

Apparently though, Bulkhead missed what he was going for with that statement as evidenced by his next question, “So, you don’t like the way he looks?”

“Being attractive has nothing to do with it, he’s a dom like me.”

“Just because somebot is big, doesn’t mean they are dominant in the berth, Jackie,” Bulkhead said quietly. The reverse also being true; Wheeljack had enough information about Bulkhead to know that he was submissive. He also knew that the larger mech was sensitive given how many potential partners had turned him down after finding out about it. They had figured being so large he would want to spike them and when that wasn’t the case, they made themselves scarce, sometimes leaving with harsh words.

“Come on, Bulk, you know me better than that,” he said with another punch trying to keep the mood light, “It’s not his size, it’s his aggressiveness. He confirmed it while I was there anyways, said he wasn’t getting spiked.”

“Well…” but he didn’t finish the sentence. Bulkhead almost looked like he wanted to be done with the conversation now, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he had just thought.

“Just say it, Bulkhead.”

“I mean, you’ve gotten spiked before.”

“When I was young. When I didn’t know what my preferences were and despite the fact that it did feel good, I prefer to be the one holding another bot up against a wall.”

“I imagine he didn’t take the rejection well.”

“No, but I told him I didn’t care. Whatever, enough talk about scrap I don’t care about. I convinced Bumblebee to throw a party. Invitations will go out soon and you know what that means?”

“It means we’re gonna party hard, wrecker style!” Bulkhead replied, both of them jumping up to give a chestplate bump that caused metal to screech as it crashed together.

“Frag yea!”

“You always did know how to party.” Bulkhead gave his chin a rub as if he was thinking about something and then his faceplates took on a knowing look. “Although, the last time I saw you this excited about a party, it was because you had a mech in your sights.” Wheeljack gave a shoulder shrug that could have meant anything. He figured Bulk would let it go, but that wasn’t going to happen, apparently. “Who?”

Wheeljack’s optics brightened up as his lip plates curled into a small smirk, “Ratchet.”

“Ratchet?” Bulkhead asked clearly not understanding the choice in the slightest.

He wasn’t exactly sure himself but something about the medic had his cogs spinning recently and he wasn’t likely to argue with his frame. Besides, medics knew lots of things about the Cybertronian frame and he knew full well that Ratchet didn’t mind which way he went. Altogether it seemed like a good choice to him. “Ratchet,” he said one more time, his tone leaving no confusion about his intention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love WJxR. Like I have stated before I really don’t know where this is going so I can’t say what any of the pairings will actually be or how many of them. I’m just writing it down however it comes to me.   
> Thanks for reading.


	4. Taking An Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my readers and for all the comments and kudos. Love you guys!   
> This is my first Autobot story so definitely let me know if anyone is not written very well.
> 
> Chapter Warning/Tags/Kinks-None

The inside of the huge protoform lab was practically shining from the hundreds of sparks that were suspended within the individual nourishment capsules. Each capsule was a small round glass held up by a conduit that plugged into the building’s power supply. The sparks were protected from the outside by the glass and the magnets that kept them perfectly suspended so as not to come into contact with any solid objects, which would cause a violent reaction damaging the spark.

Disembodied and newly formed sparks could survive for a small time floating around in space, but if they did not find a frame to call home, then they would eventually destabilize and perish. Inside of the nourishment capsules, they were fed a constant stream of gaseous energon and electromagnetic energy until frames could house them.

Wheeljack walked along the multitude of rows admiring the bright, pulsing colors, each one its own particular shade of blue, red, or gold. Every once and awhile he would spot a different color, sometimes white or grey, and even one that flashed with crackling black lightning.

Just past that capsule he finally spotted the mech he had been looking for. “Hey, Doc,” he said as Ratchet typed cybertronian glyphs into a converted Earth computer. The medic’s orange and white plating was looking a bit dull probably from a lack of energon and recharge. He had been working himself tirelessly since the well had been returned, caring for the new sparks and monitoring the growth of the protoforms.

“Wheeljack,” he said in what could only be exasperation. “What do you want? I am busy with these protoforms and have ma…”

“Easy, Doc,” he replied with a short laugh, “I just came to ask how everything was going.”

Ratchet halted in his rapid typing and turned to look at Wheeljack like he had done something strange. “Really? I wouldn’t have believed you were interested in any of this. There is nothing in here that needs blowing up.”

“I’m taking an interest since all of these fraggers,” and he rapped his digits on the glass of the closest capsule, “are the future of Cybertron.”

“Don’t do that!” Ratchet hissed at him.

“Really, Doc, you need to lighten up.”

“I’ll lighten up when Cybertron is fully restored and our people move about as they were meant to.”

“Yeah, well until then you are working yourself ragged. You going to the party?”

“I hadn’t given it any thought.”

“Maybe some high grade will do you some good.”

Ratchet scoffed at that, and then finally returned to his furious typing without giving a response. Wheeljack moved up until he was directly behind the medic almost close enough to touch and whispered into his audio, “Or maybe you need something else to help you loosen up,” and he slid a digit into Ratchet’s right hip seam. The frame gave a slight shudder and the electromagnetic field that slid up against his own pulsed with an almost aching need.

Wheeljack gave a low chuckle as he said, “Should I take that as a yes?”

Ratchet’s field flooded with embarrassment and the slight charge that had built up in his frame dissipated. “I… I need to get back to work.” The medic began to busy himself with readouts on the closest display and did his best to ignore the wrecker.

That only amused him more. “Sure thing, Sunshine,” and Ratchet visibly bristled at the nickname. “We can continue this… conversation at the party.” There was a loud clank as Ratchet fumbled for the scanner he had been holding before it fell to the floor. Wheeljack turned to leave laughing quietly to himself, but right before he reached the door he paused when something occurred to him. “Predaking has a mangled fibular strut. You may want to help him out before the party. You know, a show of good will and all that scrap.”

“I will… look into it.” With nothing more to say, he left the medic to his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… what did you think? I know you were probably hoping for a bit more after all these long months but I’m going with it. I’m trying not to overthink everything. I keep worrying that the characters are written poorly. I dunno. I’m trying.


End file.
